


Don't Ask, Don't Tell

by Shes-claws-deep (CyrilOdahviing)



Series: Flash Sale Sep 2018 [9]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Banter, British food, F/M, Heavy Petting, Kissing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 08:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyrilOdahviing/pseuds/Shes-claws-deep
Summary: Thatcher is busy putting together a meal for the gang. Reader is all too happy to interrupt her lover while he preps his ingredients, which leads to some heavy-handed petting.





	Don't Ask, Don't Tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baysian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baysian/gifts).



“Should I be nervous that you have a bowl of peas next to the potatoes?”

Mike looks up with a severe glower on his face as you poke at said bowl of peas. “I don’t know. Should you?” It’s a bit disconcerting how he’s peeling potatoes without looking at them while glaring at you like that, but you find it more amusing than scary.

“Seamus’s been telling everyone who would listen that you’re making mushy peas for dinner. But I for one know that you’re not a fan of mushy peas,” you quip with a smile, sidling up to him and smoothing over that frown with a gentle hand.

He puts the peeler and the freshly peeled potato down, holding his arms akimbo as he glowers down at you over his nose. “What are you getting at.”

Laughing, you step in close and wind your arms around his waist with a smile. “You’re particularly grumpy today, aren’t you?” Tweaking his nose and kissing it does soften that glare a little, though he harrumphs and wraps his arms around you without letting his starchy hands touch your clean clothes. “I’m saying that you’re making those peas for Seamus since it’s his birthday today. The peas and those fish and chips.”

Mike’s eyes are shifty, looking anywhere but you until you tap his cheek with a finger warningly. “Eyes on me, Mike.”

Begrudgingly, the old soldier sighs and hunches down to press his forehead against yours, dark eyes sharp yet affectionate. “Yeah okay, they’re for Mr Highland Games. Lad was complaining that the kitchen doesn’t make any a couple of days ago.” He then squeezes you tight and kisses you harshly, accepting the sharp nip to his lip with a smile. “But don’t tell him. Fucking giant will think I’m a pushover.”

A laugh escapes you as you jump up and wrap yourself around him, feeling his sticky hands instinctively cup your ass to stop you from falling. “Only a fool would think you’re a pushover, Mike.”

He growls at the feel of you tightening your grip on his waist, burying his face into your neck when you bite at his ear teasingly. “You got that fucking right.” It’s like there’s a direct link from his earlobe to his cock – the longer you nibble at the sensitive flesh, the harder and thicker his cock gets until it’s pressing up against your pussy. Upon feeling it, you squirm, reaching down with one hand between you to slip a finger along the hem of his trousers.

It’s a bit of a disappointment that you can’t get to his skin without pulling his shirt free of his fatigues. You make do though, by scratching at his scalp and his waist to make him fidget and rub against you. The thin shirt and rough fatigues do nothing to hide the heat emanating from his built form, still so strong and solid despite his age. Feeling him between your thighs is making you wetter by the minute, feeling the hard muscles of his abs press against your softer belly with every breath he takes.

“Minx,” he growls at you, turning so he can set you on a clean counter next to a pan of freshly baked, and cooling, cookies. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

You laugh and squish your breasts against his clavicle, curving your back and thrusting your chest out so the tops of your breasts tap against his sharp jaw. “Do I need a reason to feel my man up?”

His cock is throbbing now. Pressing insistently between your thighs with every subtle rock of his hips as he seeks your pussy out instinctively. Mike grunts and dips his head to kiss your collarbone and as much of your chest as he can reach. “No, but-” His sentence is cut off when movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention.

A bandaged hand appears at the service window, reaching around for something until it touches the pan of fresh cookies. It’s undeterred at the incredible heat, wrapping its thick fingers around one cookie before it’s seized at the wrist by Mike.

“Let go of the cookie or lose it, boy.”

“Uncle, uncle!” The frantic tugging of his hands made Mike grin, though he tried hard not to let a grin spread across his lips.

“Ya calling me uncle, Trace?”

“Uhhhh…” A pause. “Do you want the truth or?”

You laugh and nod for Mike to let him go. “Let him have it, babe. You don’t know where his hands have been.”

Mike, though he grumbles, concedes and barks at the younger man as he scurries away. “Make sure you wash your fucking hands before you eat that, Trace!”

A faint reply echoes through the empty mess hall and into the kitchen – one that makes you blush and your soldier bark a laugh. “You make sure you sanitise the counter after she fucks you on it!”

“Cheeky lad,” he grumps, carefully manoeuvring around you so he can put the cookies in a safer spot. Once that’s done, he finds himself drawn back to the vee of your legs where you lock your ankles behind him. “Where was I? Oh right. You’ve got a fucking ulterior motive, haven’t you?”

Coyly you hum and tangle your fingers into his hair, watching as he blinks lazily and leans into your massaging hands. But he’s a dog with a bone when it comes to this, nosey and willing to dig. So even though he leans further into you and kisses your wrist lovingly, he watches you like a hawk. For a while, you hum and haw, trying to distract him by raking your nails down the back of his neck and down his shoulders while your mouth sucks at the skin of his neck.

Mike moans lowly, shakily, bracing his hands behind you and rocking his erection against the cabinet in search of some relief. “Don’t,” he takes a moment to bite his lip, “distract me.” Though he says that, he kneads at your ass and growls when you let go with a pop. Fuck, that’s going to leave a hickey.

You laugh and give in. “Any chance you’re going to put bread pudding on the dessert menu tonight?”

What an elaborate scheme just to get him to put your favourite dessert on the menu. But…truly, there is little he will deny you, and bread pudding isn’t one of them. He sighs and grumbles an agreement, smiling grudgingly when you litter little butterfly kisses all over his lips and cheeks in thanks. Fuck, he’s so whipped it’s embarrassing. But on the bright side, he doesn’t have to sanitise the counter.


End file.
